no woobies for me. didnt need em. my comfort was far more compact and concealable.
i was a thumbsucker. mhm. an ear tugging thumbsuckin' cuddler. grins
right now.. i dont really want to write. i want to be the next room over giving moral support. giving a woobie to my journal companion.. who could use one right now as she writes..... her pain........
what is a woobie.. a thing of comfort. a cherished item.
as adults.. we outgrow thumbs and woobies.. or so we like to tell ourselves.
we just replace them with different things.
food.
fancy cars.
snazzy clothes.
women... or men.
we seek comfort in a world that is often cold and inexplicably cruel. we seek solace from the dark.
all this week.. you writing alongside me, has been my woobie. you holding my hand as i stick my timid neck out, again and again.. your friendship and kind words.. bolstering me.
right now.. i wish i could do the same for you, my friend.
though, i know you are resilient and strong..
im ready and waiting, with a warm hug and a box of tissues..
Monday, January 30, 2012
Woobies wobble but they don't fall down.
I greeted each foster child that came into my care with a soft new teddy bear, and they could choose a hand crocheted 'blankie' from a pile to add to their bed. Even the teens were given a woobie to love on, talk to and cherish.
I know that the dark scary first few nights in a foster home are made easier with comfort items. Those poor children are often removed without any of their possessions. It's as if a great fire had come and burnt their lives away. I can only imagine what it can be like to lose everything familiar in a blink of an eye.
A child asserts her independence from her parents by attaching herself to a favorite doll, a blanket, in some cases a binkie. They boost our souls. When we have our item in hand, all is right and we are safe.
My son had a special quilt that I had sewn and a matching clutch ball of the same calico pieces. It was a bright and sunny starburst done is yellows, reds, whites and blues in the joining pieces. We still have it, put away for his children to use.
I fashioned Soft Sock monkeys for children to have, the type with the big red lips and the long tail, made from workman's red heel socks. I made monkeys with costumes and accessories and branched out into dogs with floppy ears and elephants with long trunks and wobbly back legs and teeny tiny baby animals made from sock scraps, small enough for a young infant to hold.
I did this to honor a feisty little girl who had lost her funny little monkey in a fire a long time ago, and who had risked life and limb to try to save it from burning. She was such a brave little thing and so fierce and strong of spirit. Every doll I made I tried to fashion a bit of her spirit into it. To give children something to hold on and to start to heal.
I know that the dark scary first few nights in a foster home are made easier with comfort items. Those poor children are often removed without any of their possessions. It's as if a great fire had come and burnt their lives away. I can only imagine what it can be like to lose everything familiar in a blink of an eye.
A child asserts her independence from her parents by attaching herself to a favorite doll, a blanket, in some cases a binkie. They boost our souls. When we have our item in hand, all is right and we are safe.
My son had a special quilt that I had sewn and a matching clutch ball of the same calico pieces. It was a bright and sunny starburst done is yellows, reds, whites and blues in the joining pieces. We still have it, put away for his children to use.
I fashioned Soft Sock monkeys for children to have, the type with the big red lips and the long tail, made from workman's red heel socks. I made monkeys with costumes and accessories and branched out into dogs with floppy ears and elephants with long trunks and wobbly back legs and teeny tiny baby animals made from sock scraps, small enough for a young infant to hold.
I did this to honor a feisty little girl who had lost her funny little monkey in a fire a long time ago, and who had risked life and limb to try to save it from burning. She was such a brave little thing and so fierce and strong of spirit. Every doll I made I tried to fashion a bit of her spirit into it. To give children something to hold on and to start to heal.
Halloween
On Halloween, for three years running, during the tween years, I gave my son over to my friends' loving care and he and his friends all went off, at a fast run, with the parents following in a slow moving van. A gang of black kids in a mostly white neighborhood. My son was the fastest, and the most determined, I was told. He broke the "Use the Sidewalk" rule and leaped from lawn to lawn. They were all dark skinned children and I tried to get as much reflective tape and bright light colors as I could manage onto his costumes.
What I did, every Halloween that they were out, was go have a standing date with my buddy, Anne. She was the secretary of our cub scout troop and I was her assistant. She and I would take our chairs outside, and sit and relax and hand out candies. and talk. Every year we would spend the night gabbing. Oh we talked a lot anyway, but the night time air made it special to me and to her. We treasured it.
She had a special needs son too and thought I was a saint. She was a good Catholic girl who had married a shy very bright engineer, who was quirky and a cub scout leader as well. We had met in gymnastic class where her awkward timid 4 year old who lacked comfort and confidence in his body followed my 5 year old dynamo around. One was learning to touch his toes, while the other one did front flips into the ball pit.
I had hugged her, folded her into my arms on the street, the day that she got the diagnosis that her son was Aspergers, and she had burst into tears about it. She had come and sat with my son the day he threatened to kill himself if I left the house to go to an School Meeting about him.
Halloween was our peaceful time, where the scariest thing we thought about was the little ghost in front of us wanting a candy treat.
What I did, every Halloween that they were out, was go have a standing date with my buddy, Anne. She was the secretary of our cub scout troop and I was her assistant. She and I would take our chairs outside, and sit and relax and hand out candies. and talk. Every year we would spend the night gabbing. Oh we talked a lot anyway, but the night time air made it special to me and to her. We treasured it.
She had a special needs son too and thought I was a saint. She was a good Catholic girl who had married a shy very bright engineer, who was quirky and a cub scout leader as well. We had met in gymnastic class where her awkward timid 4 year old who lacked comfort and confidence in his body followed my 5 year old dynamo around. One was learning to touch his toes, while the other one did front flips into the ball pit.
I had hugged her, folded her into my arms on the street, the day that she got the diagnosis that her son was Aspergers, and she had burst into tears about it. She had come and sat with my son the day he threatened to kill himself if I left the house to go to an School Meeting about him.
Halloween was our peaceful time, where the scariest thing we thought about was the little ghost in front of us wanting a candy treat.
halloween
my ma loved halloween.
was her favorite holiday.
she decorated and bought candy and little toys and trinkets and dressed up
we had a lot of kids come into our neighborhood to trick or treat
they came in droves.. hundreds
we would put my brother's old wooden legs out front.. buried and sticking up out of the ground next to fake gravestones..
my ma and sister would set up the pup tent on the front porch
hang colorful scarves inside
my sister would dress as a gypsy and hand out fortunes (which she handmade.. even yellowed the paper and burnt the edges) with the candy and stuff
when we were all out of the house
my ma would make up special bags of candy and gifts for the neighbor kids
now i carry on the tradition.. here 600 miles from the little town i grew up in
i buy a buttload of candy.. because this neighborhood gets hit hard
i decorate.. though i have no wooden legs to strew about..
i am usually a zombie with nasty teeth..
i moan and grr at the kids.. they scream and giggle..
sometimes i tell them to remember to brush their teeth.
last year.. i even followed a group of rowdy kids down the street a little ways.. dragging my leg behind me.. just to see what would happen. they freaked! that was fun
as much fun as i have with it
halloween is bittersweet
i miss her
was her favorite holiday.
she decorated and bought candy and little toys and trinkets and dressed up
we had a lot of kids come into our neighborhood to trick or treat
they came in droves.. hundreds
we would put my brother's old wooden legs out front.. buried and sticking up out of the ground next to fake gravestones..
my ma and sister would set up the pup tent on the front porch
hang colorful scarves inside
my sister would dress as a gypsy and hand out fortunes (which she handmade.. even yellowed the paper and burnt the edges) with the candy and stuff
when we were all out of the house
my ma would make up special bags of candy and gifts for the neighbor kids
now i carry on the tradition.. here 600 miles from the little town i grew up in
i buy a buttload of candy.. because this neighborhood gets hit hard
i decorate.. though i have no wooden legs to strew about..
i am usually a zombie with nasty teeth..
i moan and grr at the kids.. they scream and giggle..
sometimes i tell them to remember to brush their teeth.
last year.. i even followed a group of rowdy kids down the street a little ways.. dragging my leg behind me.. just to see what would happen. they freaked! that was fun
as much fun as i have with it
halloween is bittersweet
i miss her
01:51 pm July 8th, 2003
I like this journal to write in, my friend
I really do, you know!
It keeps my thoughts in a basket to mend
And all my ducks in a row.
Swimming, splashing, diving they go
And then come back safely to shore.
Did I ever tell thee, ami J'adore
else
Many thanks my dear
Journal structure rich and round
Thoughts swim in safe pool
I really do, you know!
It keeps my thoughts in a basket to mend
And all my ducks in a row.
Swimming, splashing, diving they go
And then come back safely to shore.
Did I ever tell thee, ami J'adore
else
Many thanks my dear
Journal structure rich and round
Thoughts swim in safe pool
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